Monday, December 17, 2007

Claus had a rainbow tucked away in his attic. Of course everyone wanted to touch it. "Keep the line moving!" Claus called to his friends on the spiraling stairway. "No crowding! Everyone will get to touch the rainbow!"

But they did crowd. And teased as the line ground along, starting and stopping like traffic at Friday rush hour.

"Stop pulling my scarf!" Sally shouted at Todd. She had donned an ensemble of midnight blue, with a smattering of green and yellow accessories to catch the rainbow's eye.

"Ha! Purple is the Bow's favorite color!" Todd kidded her, "Just like I have on."

Sounds from above silenced the conversation. All heads turned upwards to see the flashes. It was as if someone had whipped roman candles into the Northern Lights, but even that was insufficient to describe the illumination that echoed down to them. Mysterious ohhhhhs and ahhhhhs seeped from the realm beneath the roof and careened down the stairs to the excited ears that waited, tones they had never heard before.

"How'd you ever catch it?" Maggie asked Claus who stood atop the landing, guiding the line of visitors to the final destination. "Left a window open, a dish on the table, sugar cubes dipped in paint," he confessed with a shrug, and winked, causing everyone to believe it wasn't true.

At the stairway's end stood a ladder eight feet up into a gaping hole in the ceiling. All eyes watched the lucky person whose turn it now was to ascend. That was Tim in tie dyed jeans and psychedelic t-shirt, his eyes a yin yang of hazel-green. He was a walking rainbow himself.

Everyone froze as Tim mounted the ladder. They allowed their consciousness to drift into his, to experience firsthand what would unfold. "Eyes are upon me. First rung. Second rung. Higher. Higher. Scurry through the opening into the rainbow's room. A swirling pool of fireworks floats before me. I dive into it..." The thoughts paused. "Ohhhhhhhhh. Ahhhhhhhhh" he said as the glut of colors dissolved him.

When she was 12, Olga would swim in the river with her brothers, laughing and playing, or they would dress up in hippie clothes and play crazy hippie games. At 18 she realized she was good at math, and loved the artistic expression in buildings, the graceful curves, the hard sharp edges, reflective glass, all of it. She studied, worked, and was accepted to university where she became a civil engineer.But work was tough to find, and Olga was a soft hearted lady, lacking the hard tough determinism to fight against the male overlords in her field. Like the structures she designed, her strength lay in her ability to give way to force, to bend, to be supple.Days were spent with a smile as she was mocked, denied, ignored. Nights were spent on her bed, her eyes quietly leaking salty tears into her pillow. She realized it wouldn't work for her, she had to get out, so she followed the same path as many beautiful young Russian girls, she put herself up on an auction block. She became a mail order bride.It only took 6 months until an American flew to Russia to meet her and seal the deal.Hhe wasn't physically unattractive, but the promise of a new life was what truly plucked her heartstrings, playing a happy song inside her.in America, she found out her new husband's true colors, he was a first class creep. She was smart, she was pretty, she decided to stand up for herself and strike out on her own. But it only took three months, half the time it took her to jump from the frying pan into the fire, to realize she couldn't make it on her own in a new country, with hardly a grasp of the language, with no money and no job.She ended up back with the creep, and found a job that would give her some contact with others, to brush up on her English, to save some money, to be away from him for a few hours a day, meet new people, possibly meet a ticket on the next train out of this life, to another, better life.But for now, she smiles, goes to work, stands around, and talks to me.

The Hippie Gang were possibly the only people at home on the rapidly tilting world. They thought it was like a huge and fun obstacle course, and no stranger than other things they had encountered in their time. So while other people cowered in their basements waiting for the worst, The Hippie Gang hopped and skipped and climbed about the deserted world, and had a grand time of it.

WELL, I sertanly cant think of a storey after I have ben horrafyed by such hideus fashon disaster's! And how can all of you be thinking of STOREY'S when it is vary possabule that I will not be geting any CHRISTMAS PRESENT'S, thanks to the incompatense of the CHEESE MISTRESS! If you have a hart at all you will do the CHRISTINANE thing and go heer to reed my urjent plee!Love, PANSI!!!!

p.s. I think may be the CHEESE MISTRESS is just jello's because my riting is beter than her's and I am winning over her in her dumb story contest!!!

In contrast to Freud’s fifty-minute ‘hour,’ Lacan’s sessions ended the moment he sensed the patient had uttered an important word or phrase - a break might occur in fifteen minutes or less. [Jacques-Alain] Miller had fine-tuned the logic of therapy to the point that few sessions lasted more than ten minutes. To be in analysis with Miller was to step into a divine, predestined universe. He was a totally arbitrary despot. He would say, come back tomorrow at exactly 4:55 but this didn’t mean anything! I would arrive at 4:55 and would find a dozen people waiting. (Slavoj Zizek)

They had an hour before they had to be back on stage for the dress rehearsal. Feeling completely ill-suited to the rest of the cast of pedantic dancers and perspiring singers, Woman #2, Bar Man, Man at Bar and Capt. Steve wandered the passages of the theatre playfully. They frolicked through the foyer and cartwheeled in the canteen until they stumbled upon a set of stairs. Capt. Steve took the lead, taking two stairs at a time, spurting out his only line; "Arg! We have but an ocean of time but only one oar!". The group followed him, laughing at his experimentation with pitch and accent. Suddenly he stopped, he had reached a locked door at the top of the stairs. "Arg?" Man at Bar queried, trying for laugh, but Capt. Steve had been washed away with wonder at what may lay on the other side. The rest got restless as he rattled and raged at the door for at least fifteen minutes. It was in the midst of a mock hold-up that Woman #2 looked up, studied the situation and simply stated that the puzzle was a prop. "And now we've run out of ocean" Man at Bar chuckled, hoping for a laugh.